


Untouched

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Howard is a whiny top, Kink Discovery, Light BDSM, M/M, Supportive Relationships, Touch Aversion, Vince is a pillow princess, repressed top Howard Moon, that's it; that's the story, they are both total brats and they deserve each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: Now that Howard Moon and Vince Noir have started dating each other, Howard thought he'd be ecstatic. Unfortunately, every time they try to cross the physical boundary, Howard's touch aversion kicks in. Just as Howard is about to give up and stay a virgin forever, Vince comes up with an idea...
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47





	Untouched

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by one crazy night on the Discord, when Cherry and SO mentioned the concept of repressed top Howard Moon. It got the muse thinking about how that might happen in canon... 
> 
> Thanks again to [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid) for their tireless beta services.

Vince was in heaven.

He and Howard were making out on Howard’s bed. Howard had his fingers in Vince’s hair, tugging with just the perfect amount of roughness, kissing him with just the perfect amount of tongue.

Howard released the lock of hair he’d been twisting around his fingers, sliding his hand down Vince’s back. The heat of his palm burned through Vince’s blouse, the fabric of which was so flimsy that it was almost, _almost_ like feeling Howard’s touch against his naked skin.

God, Vince wanted that _so badly._ He’d never been a particularly patient lover, jumping into bed as soon as he had the opportunity, and Howard had already made him wait so long....

Howard’s hand was resting at the base of Vince’s spine, cradled against the small of his back. Slowly, hesitantly, Howard slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, and Vince let out a long sigh... _finally,_ finally, Howard was _touching_ him....

Vince couldn’t stop himself from returning the gesture. He tugged at the hem of Howard’s Hawaiian shirt, feeling Howard tense a bit. He paused, waiting, but Howard seemed to recover, if the way he was flicking his tongue against Vince’s was any indication. Emboldened, Vince reached under Howard’s Hawaiian shirt. The hideous orange rollneck Howard was wearing beneath his Hawaiian shirt was made of a scratchy, rough wool, and Vince pushed Howard’s sweater up and rested his palm against Howard’s soft, bare stomach--

The next thing Vince knew, Howard was scooting back on the bed, hurriedly putting as much space as possible between them.

Vince slumped against the headboard, confused. _Not again_ , he thought--this was the third time in as many days that Howard had abruptly cut their makeout session short, just as it had begun to get _interesting_. Vince huffed, then shook his head to clear it of the ugly thoughts that threatened to rear their heads. “Howard?” he asked tentatively.

Howard was sitting at the foot of the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. His face was red and scrunched. Uh-oh. Vince _recognized_ that look. Howard would be launching into an existential strop any moment now--

“I’m defective,” Howard wailed, “doomed to die alone, untouched and unloved...”

“Alone and unloved?” Vince huffed. That was _well_ dramatic, even for Howard.

“Untouched,” Howard wailed again.

Usually Vince was rather patient with Howard’s frequent bouts of angst. You didn’t spend half your life with the same person without developing a certain tolerance for their quirks. Unfortunately, Vince was taking this particular bout of angst very personally indeed, due to the intensely personal way in which he was involved with Howard’s current existential strop.

This particular existential strop was putting a _lot_ of things into context for Vince. No one stayed a virgin until 32 without having some kind of hangup about sex--Vince had expected that. Even after that fateful kiss on the roof at Howard’s birthday party last year, they had moved slowly closer and closer to finally, _finally_ , crossing the physical boundary...

Only Howard stopped them every time Vince tried to nudge past kissing. He’d clear his throat and make some excuse to stop, leaving Vince excited and unfulfilled. 

Guiltily, he wondered how long Vince would put up with this before flitting off to find someone _better._ Why am I _like_ this? Howard wondered anxiously. He wanted Vince so much, so badly; his body was constantly humming with need like a tuning fork, only his wasn’t tuned to the right pitch. He’d wank himself off til he was nearly raw, but when it came down to the moment, being touched by anyone else, even Vince, sent his mind reeling. He felt awful, defective and ashamed, watching Vince’s confused eyes on him. His eyes strayed down to the noticeable bulge in Vince’s jumpsuit, and he felt even _more_ guilty. Surely Vince deserved someone who could actually stand their stomach being touched. “I’m sorry, Vince, I’m so sorry, I just… that is, you deserve, and I can’t--” 

Then when Vince had told him that it was fine, he didn’t mind waiting, Howard’s muttering had taken on a more frantic tone.

“Howard,” said Vince softly, using the most soothing voice he could muster, “you’re not going to die alone and unloved and untouched. I mean, I’m right here, trying to touch you and all--”

“That’s the whole _problem_!” Howard exclaimed, cradling his head in his hands. “Don’t you get it?... I don’t like being touched! How’re we supposed to be... _together_... if I can’t stand to let you touch me?”

Vince knew it was selfish of him to ask, but he needed to know. “It’s not… it’s not just _me,_ is it, Howard?” 

“No!” Howard exclaimed. “I _never_ liked it. You know that!”

Vince nodded, feeling somewhat comforted knowing it wasn’t just that Howard, for some reason, found him to be repulsive. “Okay, Howard. S’alright,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. 

Vince swung his legs over the edge of the bed, kicking them gently against the bedframe. He needed to think. 

Howard watched him, his cheeks streaked with tears, and Vince’s heart broke a little. He didn’t like seeing Howard upset like this, but he didn’t know how to comfort him, especially since Howard probably wouldn’t be receptive to a hug right now. 

“Okay,” Vince said slowly. “You don’t like being touched.” He tapped his fingers on his thigh, fidgeting to distract himself from trying to soothe Howard with a hug.

“I thought I would... if it was _you_ ,” Howard said. “But it turns out, I don’t like being touched _at all_.”

Vince took a deep breath, counting out the exhalations. “Do you like touching _me?_ ” he asked.

Howard considered this. His first instinct was to answer “no,” but he knew that wasn’t true, even though it didn’t make sense logically. If he disliked being touched, why would it make sense to like touching Vince? But he thought about it, and yes, he did like touching Vince--he liked touching Vince’s smooth white skin, liked touching his hands, _loved_ being allowed to touch his hair… 

“Yes,” answered Howard. “It doesn’t make sense, but yes.” 

“Genius!” said Vince, grinning. “That’s not so bad. We can work with that.” 

Howard looked confused. Vince had to remind himself that Howard was naive about sex. “You know, there are probably lots of ways to be… _together_ that wouldn’t involve as much touching,” Vince said.

Admittedly, Vince played the tart, but his sex life was more vanilla than most would expect. He hadn’t exactly had a lot of _hands on_ experience with this sort of thing himself, but he’d gone to BDSM night at the Goth club once or twice in his time: Vince had a couple of ideas that Howard might be open to. He had _one_ idea in particular, though, that might work. He just needed to make sure Howard was up for it. 

One week later, Howard was meticulously arranging a display for the lot of vintage fountain pens Naboo had brought into the shop. He was trying to concentrate, but finding it increasingly difficult to focus on his task.

For one thing, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the conversation he and Vince had had after their last failed makeout session. Howard supposed he should have been happy that Vince didn’t seem to think he was defective or a failure of a man for not liking to be touched. Vince had been patient, asking Howard lots of questions, like he was really trying to understand. He’d even come up with a few ideas for how they might be able to work around Howard’s... problem.

Then, there were the _magazines_ Vince had given him. Howard knew Vince was a bit of a tart, but even so, he’d been absolutely gobsmacked by them. Men and women, tied into impossible positions by a complex series of knots, being flogged and spanked and teased with feathers... At first, Howard had been offended (did Vince _really_ think Howard was the kind of pervert who’d get off on stuff like that?), but after Vince assured him that he didn’t think Howard was weird or perverted, Howard had grudgingly agreed to give them a look and see if there was anything he might have been interested enough to try. 

Howard’s cheeks burned shamefully the entire time. He’d barely been able to look at the magazines... he’d seen porn before, of course, but _normal_ porn. None of this bondage-dominance-sadism-and-masochism stuff. But Howard persisted--he _desperately_ wanted to make this work with Vince. He’d been pining after his best friend for nearly two entire _decades_ , and now that he and Vince were _together_ , he wanted to be able to get Vince off, to give him pleasure, to finally, _finally_ have sex. 

One of the pictures in particular had intrigued Howard--a woman, lying spread-eagled, her limbs splayed and bound to the bedposts with rope. He’d lingered over the page, tracing the knots around her wrists and ankles with a finger. Maybe it was because she was slim-hipped and black-haired, just like Vince...

Vince, who was currently shimmying around the Nabootique to the Rolling Stones, in a jumpsuit that left little to the imagination. It was so easy, _too easy_ , to imagine Vince bound to the bed, writhing just like he was writhing along to the music...

Vince _knew_ Howard was watching--Howard’s eyes were small as a crab’s, but years of living together had honed Vince’s Howard-observation skills, and not even his tiny eyes could hide the way his gaze lingered on Vince’s shimmying hips. Not one to let a moment like this go to waste, Vince struck a provocative pose, doing his best to channel Jagger at his sexiest. “Start Me Up” always made him feel sexy, but knowing Howard was _watching…_ Vince had to take advantage. He turned to make sure Howard was watching, and wasn’t disappointed. 

His small eyes were laser-intent on Vince--on Vince’s arse, specifically. Vince quirked an eyebrow, still bobbing his head in time to the music. “All right, Howard?” he asked, surprised by how low his voice sounded when it came out of his mouth. 

“Acknnggmmrl,” said Howard, as he swallowed thickly, trying to push the mental image of Vince all tied up and desperate for Howard’s touch out of his mind. 

Vince stalked up closer, doing his stupid Jagger walk which Howard always found strangely alluring, and put himself right up in Howard’s personal space. Howard could smell his sweet shampoo and hairspray and his _Vinceness,_ and he swallowed again, pupils wide with want. 

“You see something you like, Howard?” asked Vince seductively. He even licked his lips, that little _tart._

“I,” started Howard. He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if we could... That is, erm…” 

“Go on,” said Vince, maintaining eye contact as he twirled a piece of his own hair around his fingertip. 

“Do you remember, we had a, erm, conversation the other night,” stammered Howard. 

Vince bit his lip and nodded. Howard wanted to slap the flirty look right off Vince’s face so he could think clearly. 

“I was thinking. Or wondering. That is, if you would like… if maybe, perhaps, we could, erm. Try it?” It came out as a question, all high and uncertain, and Howard wanted to slap _himself_ now. 

Vince knew he was supposed to be looking sexy, but he couldn’t stop the massive smile from breaking out. “‘Course we can!” he said, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “Found something you like in those magazines I gave you, yeah?” 

Howard’s face crinkled up and he cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. It was broad daylight for pity’s sake. It all seemed so… _sordid._

Vince’s curiosity piqued. “What is it then? Handcuffs? Shibari? Spreader bars...?” 

“No!” cried Howard, still blushing furiously. “No, none of that.”

“Well?” Vince asked.

“Do we have to talk about it _here_ , in the shop, when anyone can just walk in...?” Howard stammered.

Vince flipped the sign hanging on the door of the Nabootique to “closed” and locked the door. 

“Vince!” Howard protested. “it’s only just gone four, we should be open another three hours!”

Smirking, Vince hit the lights. “Naboo won’t find out. He and Bollo are on Xooberon for the annual owl beak harvest. They won’t be back until Thursday, at the earliest.”

“Whether Naboo will find out or not isn’t the issue!” Howard argued. “We’re shopkeepers, we have a sacred duty to serve the public between the hours of 11 and 7 every day--”

Vince stalked over to Howard, almost putting a hand over Howard’s mouth to silence him before thinking better of it--the last thing he wanted was to trigger another one of Howard’s crises, especially since Howard had _finally_ decided to _do something_ about the conversation they’d had a few days earlier. He held a finger close to Howard’s lips, but not quite touching them. The gesture silenced Howard, just as Vince had hoped it would. “C’mon Howard,” Vince said saucily, “come upstairs and tell me what you saw in those magazines.”

Howard stammered in place, looking dumbfounded.

Vince batted his eyes. “Please?”

The word seemed to awaken something in Howard. He licked his lips, stopped fidgeting with his pens, nodded, and, in an unusual display of urgency, left his display only half-finished and in disarray to follow Vince upstairs to bed.

Vince and Howard were sitting on Vince’s bed, the magazines Vince had given him in a haphazard pile on the floor. Howard eyed them dubiously. Somehow, he still felt embarrassed by them, even after having had an explicit hour-long discussion about many of the kinks therein.

“So,” Howard repeated, “let me get this straight--you’re going to lie there, with your hands on the mattress, while I touch you?”

Vince flashed a smile. “Yup! I won’t lift a finger.” It was one of the more tame things they’d discussed after much stammering from Howard and prodding from Vince, but it seemed a gentle enough introduction to their _experiment,_ so-to-speak.

“But what’s gonna keep you from touching me?” Howard wondered. 

“My own willpower,” Vince said cockily. “C’mon, it’ll be well sexy, I promise.”

Howard arched a brow. Vince’s willpower was weak at the best of times. But then Vince looked up at him through a curtain of long lashes, smiling slyly, and Howard was reminded just how much he _wanted_ this. Vince was willing, and Howard was curious, and well... it seemed worth a try...

Vince seemed to sense Howard’s skepticism. “‘Sides, if I misbehave, there’s always that _other_ thing we agreed on...”

Howard glanced over at the silk scarf Vince had draped over the headboard, his ears burning as he remembered just _why_ Vince had placed it there. The brightly-colored fabric would look so _good_ looped around Vince’s thin wrists... He shook his head, forcing himself to focus in the moment. “Remember,” Howard said, “if you need to stop, just say--”

“Satsuma,” Vince breathed.

Howard looked confused, then pleased. “Yeah. Satsuma.” He sat on his haunches, staring at Vince.

At first it was kind of intoxicating to have Howard look at him like that, but after a few minutes of being stared at, it just started getting weird.

“Howard?” asked Vince.

“Yeah?”

“Weren’t you going to, you know, _do_ something?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Howard said, looking lost. 

Vince sighed. “I figure we can start with some kissing. You don’t seem to mind that.”

“No,” Howard said slowly, “I like kissing you.”

He edged a little closer to Vince on the bed. Their shoulders brushed, and Vince tensed, waiting for Howard to tense up, but he didn’t. Huh. Maybe Howard really _was_ into this. He started to feel a little better about the situation as Howard nuzzled Vince’s neck with his moustache.

The little prickly hairs of Howard’s moustache had always excited Vince. He’d made fun of Howard’s moustache when he first started growing it, mostly to hide his burgeoning crush on his childhood best friend. He’d known Howard since fifth form--but he hadn’t ever considered Howard to be _sexy_ until he turned nineteen and his moustache finished growing in. 

Vince remembered the exact moment his crush on Howard had begun: they’d been at a warehouse party, some crap punk band playing at an ear-shattering volume, and Howard had turned to Vince and said something. “What?” Vince had shouted, “I can’t hear you!” and Howard had leaned in close to repeat himself. The little hairs of his moustache had tickled Vince’s ear so softly that he’d immediately forgotten whatever it was Howard had whispered to him as soon as he’d said it. 

Vince indulged himself and let out a breathy little moan--Howard’s lips and moustache felt _so good_ against the sensitive skin of his throat, sending delicious little shivers up his spine. He could feel Howard grin against his neck, his sharp, wolfish incisors scraping gently against Vince’s skin. Vince moaned, and wriggled, but he kept his hands to himself. 

One of Howard’s huge hands stroked at the small of Vince’s back through his t-shirt. Howard was yanking at the hem, wringing it between his fingers. Vince could tell Howard wanted to take it off, but was still unsure what to do.

Vince turned his head to whisper in Howard’s ear, “Go on, you can take it off.”

Howard eagerly stripped Vince’s shirt off, staring wide-eyed as he revealed first the trail of wiry hair leading down into the waistband of Vince’s tight trousers, then the patch of hair on his chest, then his nipples and his shoulders. The goofy, hapless look he’d had earlier was replaced by something burning, something _hungry_ , and Vince shivered. Maybe Howard was onto something with this whole “no touching” thing…

Vince laid back and folded his hands behind his head and waited for Howard to make the next move, feeling slightly awkward. He’d never been a selfish lover, had always been too eager to please to consider just basking in his partner’s attentions, and it was weird to be so self-conscious of what he was doing during sex, especially when he wasn't doing anything at all.

Howard reached out to rest a hand on Vince’s belly. He smoothed the hair of Vince’s treasure trail, down to the button of Vince’s tight black jeans and back up to his bellybutton, all the while _watching_ Vince with that same hungry look.

Vince was almost vibrating from the tension of holding himself still. He bit his lip to hold in a hiss of pleasure, but the way Howard was moving, so slowly, so teasingly, was driving him mad. He squirmed a bit, trying desperately not to buck up into Howard’s hand as it lingered over his fly just a little too long.

Howard gazed down at Vince. He was already pink-cheeked and straining with the effort of sitting still. Vince _hated_ to sit still... he was always fluttering about from one thing to the next, like a gaudily-patterned moth around bright lights. Howard dipped his fingertips teasingly behind the band of Vince’s drainpipes, and Vince let out a long low moan that shook his whole body.

Howard thrilled. He’d thought that this experiment, like so many of Vince’s other ideas, would have ended up backfiring on him. He’d been resigned to the idea that he was going to spend the rest of his life a virgin, sex-starved and untouched, and had been so certain Vince would break up with him for being sexually defective.

But Vince wasn’t showing any signs that he thought Howard was sexually defective. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying this at _least_ as much as Howard was, if not _more_ \--Vince was groping at the bedclothes in an attempt to ground himself. He wanted to urge Howard to _bloody get on with it,_ but knew he needed to be patient. This was about Howard, about figuring out how to make Howard feel safe. Vince just needed to lie back and think of England. 

He was an Englishman, it should have been easy. But it wasn’t, because soon Howard was nuzzling down Vince’s chest, his bristly moustache tickling Vince’s nipples.

All thoughts of England vacated Vince’s head immediately. He freed his hands from where they were tangled in the duvet. He was about to cradle Howard’s head in his hands and make him do the thing with his moustache again when he suddenly snapped back to reality and let his hands flop back on the mattress.

Howard looked up, meeting Vince’s eyes. “Alright, little man?” 

“Yeah,” said Vince, panting slightly. “It’s fine. Feels good, is all.” 

“Good,” Howard said, a little bit growly.

Vince bucked his hips. Howard was still sitting at his side, and there was nothing there for Vince to grind into and relieve the tension in his prick, but he was getting desperate for Howard to touch him.

He’d waited fourteen years for Howard to touch him. Hell, they’d been snogging for _weeks_ , and all the while Vince had grown more and more impatient to be touched. He was _gagging_ for it. And Howard was still dragging it out... at this rate, Vince was likely to come in his pants before Howard even _tried_ anything.

Howard surprised him by cupping his hand over Vince’s hot prick. “You’re hard,” he said.

“Fuck yeah I’m hard--I been waiting half my life for you to touch me like this,” Vince gasped.

Howard paused a moment to consider that. He’d fancied Vince for at least as long as that, but he’d never been able to handle even Vince’s platonic touches. The fact that he couldn’t handle being touched made it impossible to even consider touching Vince back.

He released Vince’s prick in favor of raking his fingernails up Vince’s thighs. The fabric, stretched as it was over Vince’s muscle, was thin, and Vince shuddered visibly, biting his lip as his fingers scrabbled in the duvet. Howard contemplated. It was obvious that it was taking all of Vince’s self-control to keep from touching him. Every muscle in Vince’s body was drawn tight, practically vibrating with tension. 

Howard continued raking his nails over Vince’s thighs. Vince was lying back with his eyes closed, his jaw set, but he _wasn’t touching_. Howard slung a leg over Vince’s thighs, crawling onto his lap.

This wasn’t so bad. In fact, Howard thought as he ground his clothed cock against Vince’s, this was _pretty good_.

Vince’s eyes flew open in surprise. “ _Christy,_ Howard,” he hissed, bucking his hips up again to meet Howard’s.

Howard grabbed Vince by the hips and pressed them down into the mattress. “You’re not supposed to be doing that,” he complained.

Vince flushed. This whole thing had been his idea, but his self-restraint, never very strong even at the best of times, was being tested more than he’d expected. He wound his fingers in the duvet, willing himself to lie still.

Howard waited until Vince began to relax. When he slumped against the bed, Howard’s hands still gripping his hipbones, Howard ground down again. This time, Vince stayed obediently still.

Truth be told, when Vince had suggested this whole thing, Howard had thought the man was losing his mind. How could he have expected Howard to be the one in control, when Howard had no idea what he was supposed to be doing? Didn’t the more experienced partner sort of... lead? At least that was what Howard had been expecting his first time to be like.

But Howard didn’t feel embarrassed or self-conscious or uncomfortable right now. In fact, he felt pretty confident--as confident as Howard Moon ever got, that is. Funny, how now that Howard didn’t have to worry about Vince _touching_ him, all his self-consciousness about being a 32-year-old virgin had evaporated.

He still didn’t quite know what he was doing, but Vince sighed, and his eyelashes fluttered, and his cheeks were so, so pink...

The warmth of Howard’s large hands still gripping his hips was driving Vince _mad._ He was going to make his lip bleed if he bit it any harder, but the pain was grounding, reminding him not to touch Howard, though his fingers itched to do so. He started running his fingers slowly, quietly, across the bedclothes, hoping that maybe if he moved them the way he _wanted_ to touch Howard he could trick his brain into believing he was. He stroked the sheets, gently, encouragingly, imagining he was running his hands up Howard’s strong arms. His fingers curled when he imagined touching Howard’s hair--his hair needed a lot of work, but it looked so tempting, wavy and slightly disheveled. 

Howard leaned forward, resting the weight of his body atop Vince’s. They were pressed together from chest to thigh, his weight a comforting anchor atop Vince.

It was overwhelming, Vince had to admit. His eyes fluttered shut and he breathed deeply, trying to catalog the sensations of Howard on top of him, how warm and heavy he felt, how _good_ he smelled… Vince thought maybe he’d died and gone to heaven, or was dreaming. 

Howard lay in place for a few moments, gauging Vince’s reaction. His eyes were shut again, but not squeezed uncomfortably tight like they’d been before. He looked... peaceful. Perfect. 

Howard wanted to wreck Vince’s peace the way a child couldn’t help breaking glass if nobody was looking. He wanted to wipe the peaceful look off of Vince’s face and make him flushed and wide-eyed again, taut as a guitar string tuned too tightly. 

He leaned down over Vince’s peaceful form and lightly kissed the spot on Vince’s neck that had made him sigh aloud earlier. Vince just smiled, and Howard thought _this is no good._

He dragged his mouth lower, kissing Vince’s collarbones, nipping lightly at the white skin. He could feel Vince’s breathing growing more erratic. _Better,_ Howard thought. 

With hesitation, Howard brought his lips to Vince’s nipple. He rubbed his moustache over the sensitive skin and heard Vince whine above him. _Bingo._ Curiously, he opened his mouth and sucked the hardened nub into his mouth, and was rewarded with Vince’s body tightening as a shiver ran through him. 

“Oh _god,_ Howard,” Vince whined, and the sound of it made Howard harder than he’d ever been in his entire life. He dragged his moustache across Vince’s chest until he reached Vince’s other nipple, repeating the process.

Vince whined and shook. Suddenly inspired, Howard stopped teasing Vince’s nipple with his lips and moustache; he gently grasped the nub between his teeth, and slowly bit down.

The next thing Howard knew, there were hands in his hair, and he had extricated himself and was at the foot of the bed looking down at Vince, who looked disheveled and lovely but guilty, his eyes wide as he realized what he’d done. 

“Fuck, Howard,” he said, still breathing heavily, “I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to--” 

“You _said_ you wouldn’t do that,” Howard said, disappointment evident in his voice. 

Vince nearly started to panic. What if Howard just _left?_ What if neither of them got off? “Please,” he begged. “We can try again, I’ll be better…” 

Howard stood still, just looking at him. Vince hated to admit it, but he was getting turned on by Howard’s disappointment. The feeling of shame coupled with how aroused they both obviously were… it was a lot. This could get _well_ kinky, if Howard would let it. 

Howard watched Vince’s wide blue eyes flicker between childlike guilt, and the lascivious way they kept staring at Howard’s erection. Howard wanted to continue, too, but there was simply no way Vince could be trusted _not_ to touch him, not without some kind of restraint. “We can’t go on if I can’t trust you to behave,” huffed Howard. 

He was frustrated, Vince could tell, and looked as though he might be on the brink of another existential crisis. “We could try... that other thing we talked about,” Vince offered.

Howard gazed up at the headboard. One of Vince’s scarves, a silk galaxy-printed number that was already fraying at the edges, was deliberately wound round one of the bedknobs, fluttering softly. 

“If you’re ready,” Vince added, so softly Howard almost didn’t hear it.

Howard pulled on the scarf. It unwound itself neatly, fluttering in his hand. The thing was narrow, only a few inches wide, but long. He grabbed the scarf by the ends, yanking it taut. It was well-worn, but good quality... the fabric had a decent resistance, so he didn’t have to worry about ripping one of Vince’s favorite pieces of clothing (they were all his favorites, but he wore this one rather often). 

Vince bit his lip and squirmed as Howard tested the fabric. Interesting...

“We can... we can try,” Howard said. “If you’re sure.”

Vince startled. He hadn’t expected Howard to agree. He nodded enthusiastically, hoping that this time, maybe he’d behave and Howard wouldn’t freak out and they could both finally _come._ The idea of being bound by Howard made Vince’s cock twitch in excitement, and he proffered his wrists, offering them up to be tied. 

Howard twisted the scarf into a narrow rope. Carefully, he wrapped one end of the scarf around Vince’s right wrist, leaving some extra fabric hanging off the end. He then looped the scarf over the headboard, pulling Vince’s right arm above his head. Vince obediently lifted his left arm up so Howard could wind the fabric around his other wrist, letting the excess material dangle from Vince’s slim-boned arm.

Howard pulled the fabric taut, then looped the loose ends over the opposite wrist before winding them around the middle. He paused, taking a moment to run through the list of knots he’d learned in the sailing classes he’d attended last year, before settling on a simple overhand.

The entire time Howard was working, Vince fidgeted. It wasn’t within his nature, having been raised a wild thing, to submit and be tied up. In any other situation, this level of subservience would have made him uncomfortable. But he reminded himself that this was _Howard_ , what Howard needed.

He watched Howard at work, the way he’d scrunch his nose as he looped the scarf, the way he’d squint his eyes (as though making them _tinier_ somehow made seeing easier), his skilled fingers manipulating the fabric and brushing against Vince’s pounding pulse points. Vince was still aroused as hell, and he forced himself to think about the payoff, not focus on the restraint. It would be worth it. 

Vince had to physically hold back an impatient sigh, and knew if he was standing he’d be tapping his foot restlessly. _Get on with it,_ he thought, as Howard agonized over every last little detail. 

Finally, Howard looked up from the scarf to catch Vince’s eyes. “All right?” he asked solemnly.

Vince met his eyes and grinned in relief. “All right.”

Howard nodded, returning his gaze to Vince’s wrists as he tied the loose ends of the scarf into a double-knot with agonizing slowness. With an exasperated sigh, Vince flung his head back on the pillow and resigned himself to having to wait for Howard to finish being his usual fussy, albeit loveable, self. 

Vince let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation of the soft silk against his skin and the tiny, precise movements Howard was making with his fingers, the way that the fabric tightened around his wrists as Howard slipped a fingertip under the fabric and tugged to check the tension. 

The knot held, and Howard sat back on his haunches to examine his work.

Vince was lying on his back, hands over his head. The scarf had a bit of slack, enough that Vince could move his upper body, but not enough for him to be able to touch Howard. His eyes were big and blue and full of trust. The implication in his expression, that he _trusted_ Howard in this, made Howard’s stomach bubble nervously.

Vince rubbed his feet together on the bed while Howard stared, feeling like nothing more than an oversized cricket, but, awkward as the position might have been, Vince was finally able to relax. He’d been a bit hesitant to suggest letting Howard tie him up at first--having grown up in the jungle, he’d had bad experiences with snares. It had been Vince’s idea to rely on his own willpower to stay still while Howard touched him, but it had been _hard_. Way harder than he’d thought. All he’d been able to think about was how badly he had wanted to touch Howard, and how he wasn’t _allowed_.

With his arms tied above his head, however, Vince had no such worries. He _couldn’t_ touch Howard, so he didn’t have to worry about _not touching_ him. It was... reassuring. 

Vince took a deep breath and sighed it out, letting his eyes slip shut. Free from the anxiety of maybe accidentally touching Howard, he mentally replayed the evening, up until his terrible error, in his mind. He’d had no idea Howard would take to intimacy so enthusiastically if touch was out of the equation. Howard had played him like a guitar, knowing just which notes to strike and how to tune his body to perfection. It had been _glorious._ And thinking about it now, Vince felt himself grow harder. He inhaled, focusing on the feel of Howard’s skin against his sensitive wrists, breathing in Howard’s smell-- like musk and warm skin and something indefinably, uniquely _Howard._

At last, Vince felt the mattress shift as Howard moved. He lazily opened his eyes and grinned at Howard, who was standing next to bed, near Vince’s feet. “All right?” Vince asked. 

“Hmm,” replied Howard. He was too distracted to come up with any more of an answer--he was too busy drinking down the sight of Vince, stretched prone and lying on the rumpled duvet, committing every inch of pale skin, every wrinkle on the bedsheets, to memory. 

Vince dragged his eyes lustfully along Howard’s body, his gaze lingering at Howard’s cock, which not even the hideous, baggy corduroys Howard was wearing could conceal. Vince licked his lips. “You gonna touch me or just stand there and stare all night?”

Howard growled. “If I want to stand here and stare at you all night, you’re to lie there and _be_ stared at. Isn’t that how this game is supposed to work?”

Christy, that did it. Howard’s words went straight to Vince’s cock (where the fuck had Howard learned to talk like that, and why was it making Vince so fucking _hard_?), and for a moment, Vince forgot about the scarf binding him to the bed. Instinctively, he attempted to reach for his cock--but the scarf yanked him back, Howard’s meticulous knots holding tight, and Vince whimpered in protest.

He wriggled against his bonds some more, but it was no use--Howard’s knots were impeccable. He’d teased Howard mercilessly about taking the sailing classes (“what, Howard, you want to be a pirate or something?”), but damn if Howard hadn’t actually learned something for once. 

Howard stood, silent and still, watching Vince thrash around on the sheets. He wondered absently if he should free him--Vince certainly didn’t _look_ comfortable, wriggling around like a fish, but he hadn’t said “satsuma”, so it couldn’t be _that_ bad, could it?

Something hot and shameful flared in Howard’s belly. While one part of him wanted to untie Vince and apologize, another part of him _enjoyed_ watching Vince struggle. Vince was exactly where Howard wanted him, defenseless, prone, and most of all, unable to escape until _Howard_ gave him permission--and Howard _liked_ it.

More than _liked_ it--Howard’s erection, which had faded into a semi as he’d concentrated on tying Vince up, stiffened so suddenly and so completely it nearly _hurt._ His breath caught, and he reached down to lay a sweaty palm on Vince’s chest, right at the little dip at his sternum, pressing down with just enough pressure to stop Vince from squirming. 

“Be _still_ ,” Howard murmured, barely louder than a whisper, but Vince calmed almost immediately. “Good,” Howard said. His voice had gone so low and rough he hardly recognized it, and he swallowed. How many people would _love_ to be in his position right now--the beautiful, slightly-famous, highly desirable Vince Noir tied up to their bedposts? But they weren’t here-- _Howard_ was. Howard Moon had Vince Noir horny, desperate, and tied up in his bed, and the thought made his cock throb insistently.

Now that Vince had stopped struggling, Howard stroked his fingers up and down Vince’s torso. The rough, bitten tip of his middle finger caught against Vince’s skin, leaving a small red scratch near Vince’s bellybutton, and Vince’s breath hitched.

 _Interesting_. 

Howard raked the long fingernails of his right hand--his fingerpicking hand--through the wiry hair trailing between Vince’s navel and the waistband of his drainpipes. Vince’s erection strained through the stretchy fabric, visibly twitching as Howard scraped his nails up and down Vince’s belly.

He pressed a little harder. Vince whimpered, twisting against his bonds, but the knots held. The corners of Howard’s lips quirked up--not with a smile, not a smirk, but with _interest_ \--and scraped again.

Vince’s whimper became a full-blown moan. “Howard...” he whined.

“Yes?”

“Howard--just, just _touch_ me!”

“I _am_ touching you, Vince,” Howard said. He dipped his fingernail into Vince’s bellybutton, then continued up Vince’s torso to his chest.

Vince’s body hair was sparser here, and Howard’s fingernails left long, red lines that traced his path across Vince’s pale, cream-smooth skin. They weren’t bleeding--he’d been too gentle for that--the skin hadn’t been broken. On anyone else, they would have faded in moments. But not Vince.

Vince had skin like a flower--it _bloomed_. His pale cheeks were flushed pink, and a patch of red bloomed below his collarbone... Vince was so fair he blushed all the way down. 

The sight of it made Howard draw in a deep breath. 

He’d _heard_ of people who liked this kind of thing, had seen it in the magazines Vince had given him to _research_ , people who liked hurting other people to get off. Howard hadn’t ever considered that he might have been one of them--the idea was too strange, too _perverted_ to even consider. But it was possible he may have to _reconsider_ in the near future.

He slid his hands down Vince’s torso, gently dragging his fingernails. More red lines bloomed, and Howard’s breath caught. Finally, his hands reached the low waistband of Vince’s drainpipes, just a few inches above the erection bulging between Vince’s legs. Vince was biting his lip, watching Howard intently.

Howard tapped the button, and Vince made a sound that was halfway between a whine and a moan, but he held himself perfectly still. Perfect. So perfect for _Howard,_ no one else...

Unable to wait any longer, Howard popped the button free, then undid the zipper. Vince’s fly parted, exposing the little pink briefs he was wearing. The flimsy fabric could barely contain his erection, which had already leaked a small damp spot into the fabric. Howard’s mouth watered.

He’d been waiting for this moment for ages, longer than he’d like to admit. He’d long assumed that it would simply remain a fantasy, even after he and Vince had started kissing each other, and he could hardly contain his excitement. His mind raced with dozens of possibilities.

Vince sighed happily, bringing Howard back to earth. 

Pulling himself together, Howard tugged Vince’s drainpipes down. Vince arched his back, lifting his hips helpfully, but the fabric was so tight that he was unable to push them down more than a few inches. “How the hell do you do this?” Howard grumbled.

Vince chuckled, endeared by Howard’s awkwardness. It was a reminder that this was his first time, and Vince was about to make a cheeky remark to that effect when Howard narrowed his eyes and focused his smouldering gaze on Vince.

Suddenly Vince felt a lot less cheeky. He blushed again, harder this time. “Sort of wriggle them down past my hips, yeah? Then just peel them off like a banana.” 

Howard tried, but Vince’s stupid, sexy trousers clung stubbornly to his thighs. “Christy, Vince, these things are stuck like a bubblegum barnacle.” 

“Well, it _was_ your idea to tie me up to the bedposts,” replied Vince saucily. 

“Technically, it was _yours_ ,” Howard grumbled, still struggling with Vince’s trousers.

“Next time, we’ll take the drainpipes off before the tying up,” offered Vince, trying to be helpful. Howard was nearly distracted from his task by the promise of _next time_ , but then he finally managed to push Vince’s drainpipes past the thickest part of his thighs.

Hurriedly, Howard pushed Vince’s trousers the rest of the way off, until they got stuck on Vince’s feet. Howard was about to complain again, but Vince obligingly kicked them off. 

Now Vince was lying prone, wearing nothing but his tiny pink briefs, the small wet spot at the tip of his prick already growing larger. Howard reached hesitantly for Vince’s prick--it was hot and heavy in Howard’s hand, and Howard squeezed experimentally. Vince let out a hiss of breath at the contact, but he didn’t try to move or fight against his bonds. Encouraged by Vince’s passivity, Howard squeezed.

Vince was in agony--he’d been waiting for _years_ to have Howard touch him like this, and it was torture not to be able to grab onto Howard’s broad shoulders or tangle his hands in Howard’s hair as he shyly touched Vince’s cock. It reminded Vince of the baby animals at the zoo taking their first steps. They were wide-eyed and afraid but once they got the hang of it, a whole new world opened up to them. Vince just wished Howard would move past the “wide-eyed fear” part and onto the “get Vince off” part. 

Howard, however, seemed content to take his time. He played with Vince through his pink pants, stroking softly, cradling Vince’s balls with his other hand. 

“Fuck, Howard, just take ‘em off,” Vince whined. Howard shot him a disapproving look, and Vince bit his lip and tried to look apologetic. “Please?”

It was the magic word. Howard pulled the front of Vince’s pants down, and his cock sprang out, red with blood and shiny with precum. He let out a low, throaty growl that made Vince shudder. “Please,” Vince repeated, lifting his hips to help Howard ease them off a bit more easily, “please...”

Howard obliged. Vince was now naked.

Vince tried to catch his breath, but the entire experience was _way_ sexier than he had anticipated. There was something about being bound and completely at Howard’s mercy that made him feel feverish and fluttery inside. The cool air on his cock was such a sensation against his sensitive skin he nearly spent himself. So he tried hard to think unsexy thoughts, and breathe deeply, regaining composure as best he could. 

Howard fumbled with his belt, quickly shucking his corduroys and boxers, until he was equally naked. Vince was staring at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, his chest rising and falling as he sucked in great gulping breaths. Howard thought he should have been embarrassed to be nude in front of someone for the first time, but the way Vince was looking at him, flushed all over with his hair in disarray, hunger writ large over his face, Howard wasn’t embarrassed at all.

He kneeled on the mattress, pushing Vince’s thighs apart and settling between them. Nestled between Vince’s legs like this, Howard was overwhelmed by the desire to take Vince’s cock in his mouth, despite never having _had_ a cock in his mouth before. Sitting there between Vince’s beautifully strong thighs, his cock red and angry and weeping for attention, it took all of Howard’s willpower to not touch Vince. Not yet. Still looking Vince in the eye, Howard reached for his own cock, stroking it roughly.

“Fuck, Howard, that’s so _hot_ ,” Vince breathed. He yanked against his bonds, unable to contain his impulse to touch Howard, but the scarf held him in place. All he could do was _watch_.

And Howard was certainly putting on a show for him, that _slag_. He held his cock in a two-fisted grip; it was large enough that the tip still peeked out from his hands. The foreskin slipped over and back, revealing the flushed, plump cockhead with every stroke. Vince’s mouth was watering... he’d seen Howard in his pants often enough to have known that Howard was packing, but this was certainly more than Vince had expected, even in his wildest dreams (and the dreams featuring Howard had been pretty wild indeed). He wondered if Howard would let him suck him off... maybe Howard would tie his hand behind his back and force him to his knees, and Vince would have to make him come using only his mouth...

Vince’s daydream was interrupted by a pinch on his thigh. “Oi!” he barked. “What’d you do that for?”

“You’re not _paying attention_ ,” Howard griped. 

Sheepishly, Vince shook his head. “I was!” It wasn’t _quite_ the truth, but close enough... even if his mind had wandered, he was still thinking of Howard...

“No, you weren’t,” Howard protested. “You’re all... faraway...” He sighed. The confidence he’d been feeling had started to ebb, and he let go of his prick, which bobbed awkwardly between his legs. “Might as well untie you and get this over with...”

“No!” Vince shouted. 

Howard froze.

“I wasn’t faraway,” Vince sniffed. “I was thinking about you, I swear it!”

“Oh?” Howard asked, cocking his head. “What were you thinking, then?”

“I was thinking about sucking you off,” Vince babbled, “having you tie my hands behind my back, making me kneel and--and get you off, using only my mouth... Please don’t stop, please Howard, _please.._ ”

Hearing Vince beg like that flipped a switch in Howard. Vince didn’t ask anyone for anything, and when he did, it usually wasn’t politely. But hearing him _beg_ made Howard feel… powerful, possibly for the first time in his life. Suddenly, his mind cast itself back to the images in the magazine, and Howard understood how people could get off on this kind of powerplay. He was certainly getting off on the mental image Vince’s admission conjured. 

He let out a long, low moan, almost as rough as a growl, and dropped forward, supporting his weight on his arms, hovering over Vince’s vulnerable body. Vince’s mouth was open in an “o” of surprise, and Howard didn’t even have to think about it before he covered Vince’s mouth with his own. Vince gasped into the kiss, his tongue slack in his mouth as Howard _devoured_ him. 

Vince groaned into the kiss--he couldn’t help it. Howard’s mouth was drawing every breath, every noise, every frustration out of him. Idly, he wondered if he was allowed to kiss back, if he could fuck his tongue into Howard’s mouth the way he _burned_ to be fucked, or if that would count as “touching.” Vince settled for opening his mouth wider, letting the kiss get wild and sloppy as Howard took the lead. 

Howard shifted his weight, bracing himself on his left arm, then, without warning, closed his right around Vince’s cock. He didn’t waste his time with teasing--he stroked Vince tight and fast, his hand making a filthy slapping sound as he wanked Vince off.

Vince surged forward into the kiss, his tongue winding around Howard’s. He was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed--Howard was above him, only a scant few inches between their chests, his hand sliding up and down Vince’s wet prick. Fuck, he was close, so _close..._

Vince broke the kiss with a moan. Unable to contain himself, he pushed his cock into Howard’s fist, humping in and out of his grip... just a little more, that was all he needed, and he could come, god, Vince wanted Howard to make him come so bad...

Just as he was about to let go, Howard released him. Vince let out an inarticulate whine--why, why had Howard stopped? He was about to voice his complaint when Howard spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “You know you’re not supposed to do that, Vince.”

“I can’t help it!” Vince gasped. “Fuck, Howard--it feels so good, I’m almost there, almost, c’mon, please--”

“No,” Howard growled, grasping Vince’s hipbone in his huge hand. He scooted over to sit at Vince’s side, contemplating what to do next. Vince’s prick looked hard enough to burst; it pulsed between his legs, throbbing without even being touched. 

A concept, dim and shadowy, formed in Howard’s mind, and he teased it into a fully formed idea. He yanked at the scarf tying Vince to the bed, checking the tension. There was just enough slack to turn Vince onto his belly...

Before Vince knew what was happening, Howard gripped both hips in his huge hands, and _tossed_ Vince onto his belly, arse up. Vince thought his heart (or his dick) was going to explode from the ease with which Howard had manhandled him. He’d always been aware of the difference in size between them, but having Howard toss him about made Vince acutely aware of just how much larger and stronger Howard was. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ Howard,” Vince moaned. 

“Did I hurt you? Do you need to stop?” asked Howard, his moustache tickling Vince’s ear as he worried over the smaller man beneath him. 

“No, you berk,” panted Vince, “that is _well_ hot.” 

Howard smirked to himself. That strange sense of pride--pride that _he_ was the one getting Vince off, making him tremble with want--resurfaced. He reached out to grip one of Vince’s arsecheeks (Vince was so slim, but his arse was tantalizingly plump and round, even more so now that he knew Vince was at his mercy), digging his fingers into the soft flesh.

Wild with need, Vince started slowly pumping his hips into the mattress, desperate for any friction to alleviate the pressure fit to burst in his aching cock. Howard’s hands on his arse, the ache in his arms from being tied up, the mental image of Howard, perched between his legs while he pleasured himself… Vince felt the familiar pressure building, felt his breath hitch in his throat as he ground his cock against the sheets. 

Just as it started feeling really, _really_ good, Howard swatted him on the ass. “Oi, what was _that_ for?” Vince yelped, his arse still stinging with the impact.

“You _know_ ,” Howard said.

“I didn’t even touch you!” Vince protested.

“But you’re touching _yourself,_ ” Howard said. “And that’s supposed to be _my_ job. That’s the rules--I touch you, and you don’t touch _anything_.”

Vince gave a whine that was somehow both high and guttural. Howard was right--those _were_ the rules they had agreed on--but hearing Howard say it out loud, in that low near-growl, made it even hotter. 

Howard put his hands on Vince’s hips, his long, strong fingers digging into Vince’s skin, and yanked him into a kneeling position. There wasn’t enough slack in the scarf to put Vince on all fours, and his chest and face were pressed against the bed, his arse up in the air. Vince moaned, feeling exposed, but not in a _bad_ way, more in a sexy way.

“That’s better,” Howard grumbled. “Can’t get in trouble like this, can you?”

Vince made a breathy gasping sound, and Howard hummed, pleased that Vince was finally behaving. He’d expected Vince to push his luck--it was his nature, Vince always had to see how much he could get away with in any given situation--but what Howard _hadn’t_ expected was how much he’d like putting Vince back in his place.

He took a moment to appreciate the picture Vince made, arse up, head down. Curiously, Howard ran a fingertip down the crease of Vince’s ass, starting from the dip at the base of his spine, tracing down to Vince’s balls, and back up again. Vince made another one of those little whining sounds, so Howard did it again.

When he was confident Vince would not try to do something he knew he shouldn’t, Howard gently pried Vince’s cheeks apart, taking a good look at the curled furl of his hole. The sight made Howard inhale sharply--he’d fantasized about this, more times than he could possibly count, but none of his fantasies, no matter how explicit, had prepared him for the sight. 

Tentatively, Howard rubbed the pad of his index finger against Vince’s hole. It twitched in response, and Vince shivered, but he held still, so Howard tried again. He spent a few minutes breathlessly teasing Vince’s anus, watching it clench and relax, until Vince, driven to the limits of his patience, mumbled something indecipherable against the duvet.

“Hmm? What’s that?” Howard asked.

“I said, there’s lube in the nightstand,” Vince wheezed, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, “ _use_ it.”

Howard froze. They hadn’t discussed this--what did Vince want him to do with the lube? Luckily, Vince quickly added, “C’mon, Howard, put your fingers _inside_ me, please, I want you to--”

That was all Howard needed to hear. He scrabbled across the bed to rummage in the drawer of Vince’s night table, which was a jumble of paper scraps, oil pastels, and lip gloss, and perversion. Mixed in with all the shiny little trinkets and junk was a large bottle of strawberry-flavored lubricant, three dildos of varying sizes and shapes, including one intimidatingly thick and realistically-veined, anatomically-correct dildo. Hurriedly, Howard grabbed the lube and shut the drawer. 

The bottle was more than half-empty, and Howard flushed, mind racing with images of how, exactly, Vince had used it. But then Vince let out a desperate whine, and Howard quickly slicked his hand with lube, settling between Vince’s splayed legs and getting back to the task at hand, so to speak.

Vince, having lost the ability to speak, was reduced to noises only, as Howard smeared lube into his cleft. He keened and gasped, making imperceptible sounds of encouragement as his head spun with sensation as Howard continued massaging Vince’s hole, smearing the slippery stuff over the tight muscle. Gently, it began to relax, and he pushed against it. There was a little resistance at first, then all of a sudden--he was _inside._

Vince was hot, so hot, hotter than Howard had ever imagined possible. He slid in down to the second knuckle, gently moving his fingertip against Vince’s inner walls.

Suddenly, Vince let out a sharp moan, one that was distinct enough from all the little sounds of pleasure and desperation he’d been making. Howard paused. “Vince? Everything OK?”

Vince squinted his eyes shut and made that worrying sound again. “Your nails,” he muttered, “ _hurts.”_

Hurriedly, Howard withdrew, reassuringly stroking Vince’s back. “I--hurt you?” he asked, worried. 

“No, no. Stings a little bit,” Vince said quickly. “Just... that’s your right hand, the one you use to strum your guitar, yeah?”

Howard made an affirmative sound, looking down at his hands. The nails on his right hand, which he used for plucking his guitar, while smoothly filed, were much longer than those on his left, which were cut short so they wouldn’t interfere with his fretting.

“Try the other one,” Vince moaned, waving his arse in the air eagerly. “Please, Howard?”

That was all Howard needed to hear. He made quick word of slicking up his left hand, picking up where he’d left off. It was a little awkward to use his non-dominant hand at something that required such dexterity, but his fingers were well-trained from years of musical practice, and he soon figured out a proper angle.

Vince’s hole accepted his fingertip eagerly, with much less resistance than before. Howard prodded gently at Vince’s insides--the heat and tightness made his cock throb again, and Howard was aware that he’d been teasing Vince for _ages;_ they’d both need to get off soon.

Cautiously, Howard moved his fingertip in and out, watching intently as Vince’s body accepted him. Vince mumbled lazily into the pillows, most likely in an attempt to urge Howard on, but Howard unhurriedly continued to finger Vince at the same languid pace for a few minutes before adding another.

His senses were on high--Howard could feel the warmth of Vince’s body, the way his muscles clenched around Howard’s fingers every time Howard’s knuckles brushed at his rim. Even though Howard was as deep as he could go, it felt like Vince was trying to pull him deeper. 

Vince was dimly aware of the strange, dual sensation of being both too full and not nearly full enough as Howard fingered him. His brain felt liquefied, as though it, like the rest of his body, was made only of desire and sweat, and the single word he could form was “please,” repeated like a prayer. 

Howard made a non-committal sound in response to Vince’s pleas, still fingering Vince at the same lazy pace, committing everything he could to memory: Vince’s smell, sweet and heady, the sheen of the sweat coating his skin, the curve of his ass and thighs and way his back arched. 

Howard thrust in, twisting his wrist and crooking his fingers. His fingertips nudged against something spongy and warm inside Vince, and Vince’s soft babble was interrupted by a loud wail. His whole body jerked, and Howard kept pressing the same spot, watching Vince come apart.

Prone like this, with his chest and shoulders supporting his weight, Vince didn’t have the strength to thrust back against Howard. All he could do was tremble. His abs burned from holding his arse in the air, and his inner thighs burned from being splayed so wide. All he could do was rub his face in the sheets, babbling an incoherent string of pleas for Howard to not to stop, to hurry up, to make Vince _come_ as his fingers teased at Vince’s prostate. 

Howard, for his part, was enjoying the show. Pushing inside Vince a bit more roughly, aiming at that _spot_ , with the fingers of his left hand, he used his right to grope for the lube. He squeezed a generous amount directly onto Vince’s anus, and then dribbled some onto his own prick, before haphazardly tossing the bottle back into the sheets. He reached between his legs to grab at his cock--it was dark with blood from having been hard so long--and began to wank himself. It took a minute or two to figure out how to coordinate the motions of his right hand on his dick and his left in Vince’s ass, but soon caught on--it wasn’t any harder than playing the piano, having both hands move independently of each other like that.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, _Howard_ ,” Vince moaned. He was dangerously close to getting off--every time Howard’s fingertips brushed against Vince’s prostate, his orgasm crept closer, even without his dick being touched. His cock was leaking, releasing more fluid every time Howard massaged his prostate. Howard’s rhythm quickened, the thrust of his fingers in and out of Vince’s body growing harsher, and Vince felt his balls drawing tight and beginning to throb. “I’m gonna come, Howard, I can’t stop it--”

“So _come_ ,” Howard said, his voice so absolutely filthy that that was all Vince needed before he was spilling himself onto the sheets.

Howard kept fingering him through the orgasm. Even as the spurts subsided, Howard kept _pressing_ , making Vince leak more semen. It seemed like it would never stop, like Howard would never take mercy on him--

Finally, Howard withdrew his fingers from Vince’s hole, still not-quite-able to believe what had just happened. He’d made Vince come without even touching his prick--it was the hottest thing Howard had ever seen in his life...

Howard wrapped his left hand, the one he’d been using to finger Vince, around his cock, joining his right as he stroked himself two-handed. It still wet with the lube he’d been using to finger Vince... he gripped himself harder, imagining Vince’s arse swallowing his cock the way his fist was swallowing his hand--

It didn’t take long before Howard was coming too, this time all over Vince’s arse. Howard had never felt like this--had never come so hard, and especially not with another person. Vince’s panting and little whimpers egged him on as he felt his own pleasure rip through him, rendering him mindless and delirious as he came, and came, on Vince’s beautiful arse. 

Vince was lying face-down, no doubt in a puddle of his own spunk, and Howard decided to collapse right over him, in a puddle of his own mess. He minded less that he thought he should--Vince made a very nice pillow, although a bit bony in some places.

Vince slumped against the bed, floating in a post-coital haze. He probably should ask Howard to untie him soon, but he was far too lethargic to bother... doing anything but sleeping, preferably with Howard’s warm, comforting weight still laid across his back, seemed like far more effort than he could muster.

The moment didn’t last long, however. Howard abruptly roused from his position slumped over Vince’s back, muttering wildly to himself. “Oh, God. Oh, _God,”_ whined Howard. It wasn’t the fevered moans of a moan in the throes of passion. As fucked-out as he was, hearing Howard’s “on the verge of a crisis” voice wakened Vince from his hazy, post-coital cocoon. 

“‘Oward?” Vince mumbled into the pillow. He felt Howard’s fingers rushing to untie him, trembling in their eagerness. At last, Vince’s bonds were loosed and his arms sunk to his sides, a deep sigh accompanying the act as feeling started to prickle his fingertips again. “Mmm,” he said, rolling over onto his back now that he was free to do so. The muscles under his arms ached, pain bringing him back to the present, wresting his eyes open. 

Howard was perched above him, looking beautifully disheveled but panicked. 

“Wha’s the matter, Howard?” Vince slurred, still too well-fucked to be properly concerned. 

“I--you... “ started Howard, looking more and more concerned. “Did I hurt you? It must have hurt you, there’s no way it couldn’t have. Look at you, you can’t even raise your arms on your own.” Howard lifted one of Vince’s heavy arms and let it fall back to the mattress in demonstration. 

Vince giggled. “Noodle-arms,” he said. “Howard, it’s fine.” 

“Fine’s not good enough, little man,” said Howard, sounding tragic. 

“No, I mean,” said Vince, interrupting what was sure to be a horrible monologue. “What I mean is, it’s fine that it hurt a little. I _liked_ it.” With every ounce of strength left in his body, he crawled his hands towards Howard and raised his palm, like he used to when approaching moody animals at the zoo--slowly, palm up, in deference, showing you mean no harm.

Howard did not take his hand. 

“It was the best fuck I’ve ever had,” said Vince earnestly, “and you didn’t even properly fuck me, imagine that.” 

A quirk of a smile twisted Howard’s lip. 

Vince pushed himself up on shaking arms, trying not to wince visibly. “Lie down, Howard,” he instructed softly, “I want to try something.” 

Howard didn’t move. Vince went and got a towel and a damp flannel and made quick work of tidying himself and the bed up as best he could. “Howard,” he coaxed, “please lie down.” 

Howard did. 

Careful not to touch him at all, Vince draped a clean sheet over Howard’s naked body, watching the way the fabric fluttered down and covered him one small bump and ridge at a time. When Howard was covered, Vince paused. “Howard?”

“Mmmph?”

“I’m gonna lie on top of you, OK?” Vince said. It took a moment for Howard to respond, and Vince chewed his lip with worry. 

“OK,” Howard acquiesced.

Slowly, so slowly, Vince climbed into bed next to him, still careful not to let any of their skin touch. When Vince had curled into Howard, he pulled the duvet up over both of them. 

Howard lay completely still, listening to the sounds of Vince shuffling amid the sheets, arranging them perfectly like fruit in a bowl waiting to be painted. He let his eyes drift shut… he was exhausted, after all. It had been a long night for both of them. 

He felt Vince move slowly, first curling his smaller body into Howard’s larger one. When Howard made no move, Vince reached an arm across Howard’s chest. Howard stiffened a little, then relaxed back into the mattress. It wasn’t touching, exactly, was it? Vince’s head rested in the crook between Howard’s neck and shoulder. Lastly, he wrapped a leg around one of Howard’s, and Howard could feel the outline of Vince’s foot hook around his ankle. At last, Vince settled and was still. 

Howard remained still, feeling the heat of Vince’s body on top of his. The weight of it was comforting, and he felt safe, warm, and comfortable. 

“Is this alright, Howard?” Vince whispered. 

Howard nodded sleepily into his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, this is alright, Vince.” 

After a few moments of sleepy silence, Howard heard Vince snuffle, “See? You’re not defective. That was well sexy, and our kinks go well together. _We_ go well together, Howard.” Through the sheet, Howard felt Vince press a kiss to his chest. 

Howard believed him. And for once, he didn’t feel defective--maybe just a little kinked. And if he was kinked, so was Vince--hadn’t Vince gotten off, too? He cupped Vince’s chin in his hand, guiding their mouths together. Vince smiled and hugged Howard through the sheet. He clung to Howard like a warm, heavy blanket, and it was starting to make Howard drowsy. “Now budge over. It’s my turn for a cuddle.”

Howard slung a heavy arm around Vince’s waist. Vince snuffled against his chest, and Howard kissed the crown of his head, hoping Vince knew how thankful he was for helping Howard work around his fear of being touched. Overcome with emotion, he let the words tumble out: “Thank you, Vince.”

“It weren’t nothin’,” Vince said sleepily. 

“Yes it was,” replied Howard. “I never thought I’d lose my virginity, but you… you made me feel safe. And normal. So, thanks.” 

Vince chuckled drowsily. “You are anything but normal. But don’t worry. All the best people are not normal.” 

Howard was surprised to find he agreed. He smiled and settled in against Vince, murmuring before drifting off, “You know, there’s something on page 21 of that magazine that I want to try...”

“In the morning,” Vince mumbled. “For now, just hold me.”

Howard clutched Vince more tightly. The magazines could wait. They didn’t have pictures like this, just two people holding one another close. This was better than the magazines anyway--this was Vince, and this was real.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Let us know if you liked it... our muses do so love receiving comments and kudos ;)
> 
> Find us on Tumblr [@bob-skeleton](http://bob-skeleton.tumblr.com) and [@the-stoned-ranger](http://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com).


End file.
